


A house

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [87]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Hamlet dlc, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles, headcanons galore, technically fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27135388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: It's been a long time since either of them had a sense of stability.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Series: DS Extras [87]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	A house

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got to play the Hamlet dlc

The rains brought in cold humidity, a hint of chill to settle into the old houses ugly brick and plank structure.

The quilt bedding, actual cloth instead of thick animal furs, helped insulate, helped keep warm, and yet it was far warmer with a second body in the bed.

A roll of blistering thunder had woken him up, disrupted some odd dream he could not recall, and now Maxwell had tucked himself closer to his partner, already vying for the warmth the other man radiated. 

The house thankfully protected them from the sticky moist air outside, so there was little chance Wilson would awaken from his faint touch; the humidity made contact uncomfortable, a discomfort that had them splitting up in the mornings to do their work alone, whether that be in the village or out in the jungles.

Maxwell himself favored the town; it may smell foul at times, especially when the air was sodden but there had been no rain, but the pigmen were rather generous when it came to the work available. 

It was...demeaning, yes, to be some servant of the public, minding the hedges and attending to the cleanliness of the pathways, but he took it over the jungle and ruins excavations Wilson did on a frequent basis. Going down into those places has never done him any good, unfortunately; old lost relics and horridly hungry flora, swarming insects and disgustingly large piles of animal excrement - none of this was what Maxwell found appealing to venture into.

Though, at times the townsfolk tested his patience; their irrigation system was rudimentary at best, and while there were obviously working pigs who took care of most of it the overflow of nearby cesspits, while giving him something to do to earn the pigs currency, was hardly work fit for the once Nightmare King.

Wilson had laughed, when Maxwell had first ended up hissing complaints about it, and it had irritated him more than he could ever describe but there was also the fact that the other man had come back from some jungle ruins and had a gaping wound on his arm oozing poison.

So he supposed shoveling pig dung had to be on par with getting stung by an oversized scorpion and having to sit in bed suffering through the ensuing delirious fevers afterwards. He had to dip into what little he'd been saving to get them both through those rough few days.

It still curdled his stomach, that _this_ is what he's been reduced to, and it always would no matter how many times Wilson has dragged himself back here in a state almost worse than death, but at the very least his complaints of it made his partner laugh.

...Somehow, there were more opportunities of that happening out here, on this horridly overcrowded plateau, than down on the Constants mainland. Having been cursed to live up here for some undefinable amount of time was at the very least offset by the fact that he was doing so with Wilson at his side.

What an odd thought, but it didn't prevent him from shifting closer, practically cuddling up against the other man and letting out a softened sigh at the contact. Usually they slept with their backs together, a sense of support and constant assurance of presence; at some point in the night however, Wilson had turned himself about. 

There was little light in their house, dim and low, enough to sleep with but also enough to give the sense of protection from the darkness - there was no danger in a dark, night bound house, but it eased the mind somewhat - so there was just enough for Maxwell to squint his blurry tired eyes and see the other man's face.

His exhaustion from the day was going to pass over to the morning, unfortunately; awakening in the middle of the night was a sign of his insomnia raising its head, and even in this environment, a house safe from most things and with Wilson here, undoubtedly one of the most experienced of survivors within the Constant, his sense of imminent danger would not let up enough for rest. 

The plateau was not the most friendly of places, nor known to build up to tragedy; it struck hard, and fast, and Maxwell knew eventually it would do the both of them in and everything they've worked for would be for naught. With his foul luck, he didn't believe he'd see Wilson for a long while if he died here, or anyone else for that matter.

The Constant was cruel, and unfair, just the way he had made of it, and Maxwell didn't allow himself to believe this would hold out for much longer.

However, the pleasant surprise of being able to retire to bed in this ugly crooked house, with Wilson beside him, each and every passing day, was more than enough to stave off darkened thoughts of the inevitable future.

Wilson slept on, as Maxwell inched close to him, lightly tangled their legs together and scooted enough to briefly dip and press his forehead against the other mans, another little sigh escaping him as he watched every calm, deep breath. He gently brushed his hands against the other, his gloved claws trailing those bone talons, before clasping them with his and giving a faint firm hold, and for a moment he let himself settle again.

It was oddly calming, to watch Wilson sleep. The drawn down scowl wrinkles of his face were smoothed out, would've made him look a few years younger had he not sported that beginning bush of a beard, scrappy and rough, which Maxwell knew from experience. 

Getting intimate out here was somehow easier when done inside an actual house and not in the middle of a forest. Memory was not always the prettiest, but it gave him a shiver of feeling, faint emotion when those hands in his twitched and he squeezed their grasp together, too tired to fight the faded small smile that crossed his face.

He'd not admit it to Wilson, but this level of somewhat stability, in this horrid house with this horrid town and this even more horrid plane of existence, was somehow leaving him better off than usual. In what way, he'd not give words to, but it was enough to have him shift his head and wiggle closer, press his face into that wild greasy hair and curl himself against his partner.

There was an actual spa house in town; used by the pigs, of course, and not very suited for humans, but Maxwell could appreciate the pigmens sense of hygiene because Wilson for once did not just smell of the wild and sweat and blood and lingering panic or fear. They didn't usually have enough coin to go there often, but recently Wilson had come back with a pack full of artifacts and looted jewls and that, along with the stupidly long hours Maxwell has been trimming one of the more thick hedges in the center of town, had earned more than enough for a recent break of the usual.

There had been a sense of something, some other feeling when they had went in. There was enough room in the pigmen created bathing rooms for the both of them, and Maxwell had very much enjoyed the level of closeness he had shared with Wilson then, as absurd and rare as it had been. This was something they've never done on the mainland, couldn't be compared to the few frog pond rendezvous that have happened from time to time, and the pigs used a variety of perfumed soaps but Wilson had chosen something that was faintly of flowers and lavender and Maxwell still found the scent of his hair, which had been so ingrained in his memory to be wild and dirtied and haphazardly taken care of in the chaos of survival, to be such an incomprehensible change.

It wasn't a bad thing either, he thought at least, and Wilson had spoken briefly of it too, both quiet after leaving the pig spa, both a bit shocked silly from the change and yet continued connection the entire activity had created, and Maxwell still wondered how different it must be, to not smell the nightmare fuel wafting off him as thickly as it usually did. 

The faint idea, this change that shouldn't be possible in the Constant but the plateau had allowed for, that it would alienate each other, had been proven wrong rather quickly; while most pigs in these towns were civil enough, bandits more often targeted humans, and getting into a brief scuffle with one such that thought to take both men on within some unmarked alley had been a poor choice from the masked pigman. 

It had been easier, fighting off one of these blasted thieves with Wilson by his side, and in the end as the swine was knocked unconscious and they both had leaned, panting, against one of the dirty brick walls, all the work the spa had done mostly dirtied up now-

It had made them laugh. 

And perhaps get a bit intimate, but that had been interrupted by a patrolling pig guard, who had then hauled off the unconscious bandit after a quick explanation. The fact the boar had winked at the both of them before leaving had certainly killed the mood, though Wilson had fallen into almost hysterical giggles about it later.

The thought, that the interest of two humans being in one pig village would be offset more by talk of their rather apparent relationship, while equal parts embarrassing and a bit unsettling, had also been quite humorous once Wilson told him that at least now none of the towns swine would get it into their heads to try and court one of them.

That idea had been...something, but Maxwell supposed Wilson knew more than enough about pigs to understand whatever their thought process was. The man has lived among them before, down on the mainland, and while Maxwell has had a hand in creating a few of those duller pigs from the foundation of far older boarish creatures his own knowledge of them could be somewhat lacking at times.

He heaved a sigh, rubbed his thumb atop the knuckles his hands clasped together with, and the warmth was comforting when held together like this. Oftentimes the days passed with little contact between each other besides at night and the mornings, and while he's gone down into the jungles and ruins with Wilson before and vise versa with Wilson helping in town, doing the separate work has earned them more time together when things were going well.

And he...appreciated that, greatly. Probably far more so than he'd ever admit to Wilson, but his partner laughed more often out here, with him, would touch him more freely, hold his hand at times or lean against him, and they'd talk and argue less and Maxwell-

...didn't quite know what to feel on all this besides that he quite liked it, and was ever so dreading when it would all be taken away again.

It was inevitable, of course, and he's softly spoken of it to his partner before, but right here, right now, the best bet was to enjoy it while it lasted.

And Maxwell, for once, was going to allow himself to. The plateau was usually lived in alone; it was rare, to end up together with someone else up here, and he couldn't look the gift horse in the mouth for something like this now could he?

He'd not be getting this again, he didn't think, and he so much wished for it to last.

His internal thoughts lulled down into a light doze, huddled close against his partner, hands still locked together, and the droll rumbling of rain grew stronger, rattling the shingles and, in a few corners, leaking drops every once in a while. They'd need to put a pot under there, Maxwell tiredly thought, but he wasn't willing to untangle himself from his partner to do so. 

A rumble of thunder from far off echoed outside, vibrated the house in a shiver, and Maxwell wondered idly if he could convince Wilson to dig a moat about the house at some point.

Would help with all the flooding from these monsoon rains. 

And that reminded him of what he'd end up having to do tomorrow, and another sigh escaped him at the thought, briefly burying himself into the wild tangle of his partners greasy soft hair. Flooding made a pigsty of the, ha, pig town, and while he'd have the company of other working pigmen Maxwell was not looking forward to it.

The thunder roiled on as the night kept steady, enough to almost sound to be right above them, and the houses trembles grew less noticeable as Maxwell relaxed into a steadily deepening doze.

But it seemed to be a bit much for Wilson and it took a moment of a change in the quiet for him to realize the other man was awake.

Bone talons squeezed his hands, slowly curled to get a better grasp and tug closer to the chest, and Maxwell shifted to lift his head somewhat, blurrily opened his eyes and fought off a nipping yawn.

Wilson had his eyes open, looking just as tired, and he glanced at Maxwell for a second, the sleep still clinging to him as he spoke.

"...Nightmare?"

The familiarity of the question didn't escape him, but Maxwell was already shaking his head, adjusted as he tangled his fingers with his partners, voice quiet as he answered back.

"No." A small smile, for a moment, tugged at the corner of his mouth; ever since they've settled here, the night terrors have all but gone away. "...You?"

Wilson hummed, eyes closing again with a sigh, and then his hands unhooked from Maxwells and were suddenly about his sides, nudging them closer together with a few firm tugs. His face buried against his chest, claws tugging lightly to his undershirt, and this close Maxwell could almost feel the other man's heartbeat.

For a moment he almost feared that was an answer to his question, but then Wilson was shifting again and he raised his head and let his forehead lay against Maxwell's shoulder, the position lax and tangled together in the warmth of close contact.

"...it was a nice dream." His voice was still enreathed with sleep, but Wilson just breathed against him, held him close, and Maxwell answered back by relaxing, by letting his own hands wander about his partners sides and offering the same touch in turn.

Doing this in bed, instead of some fur packed tent, offered a bit more stability and comfort in doing so, yet even having done it before it still inset a feeling of vague wonder in Maxwell, in being allowed to do so. Wilson wasn't naturally a touchy man, and his time alone in the Constant sometimes made him abrasive and blunt about it, but…

He's near always allowed it from Maxwell. Whatever it was, given to him with so much trust involved, sometimes made the former Nightmare King's chest ache in a way entirely different from any other and he knew not how to fix that, nor how to repay it back.

Then again, Wilson has never asked that of him, not in all this infinite time spent within the Constant. He's never asked much of Maxwell, not really.

"I was in my house." Wilsons voice lulled, a bit sluggish from sleep, but he whispered against Maxwell, tangled together, and Maxwell quietly listened. "And everything was dusty and falling apart, and there were holes in the roof and that broken third step in the stairs and stains on the floorboards."

A pause, for a moment, and Wilson's clawed hands pressed, slowly rubbed circles against him, touch Maxwell returned as he adjusted comfortably, before Wilson let out a soft laugh.

"And red mushrooms in the bathroom, I never did clean those up." He lapsed into silence again, just their breath and the rain and the slow rumble of thunder trailing from far away, the storm moving on slowly and steadily. 

"You were there, too."

Maxwell closed his eyes, too tired to fight off or school himself from whatever emotion was threatening to flood him now, and his own exhaustion was spiked more aware with Wilson awake but judging from the other man's quieting voice and slowing, deepening breath his wakefulness wouldn't last long.

"And everything was okay." Wilson hummed, quiet like, and Maxwell tilted his head to press his mouth to his partners head, greasy wild hair and faint flowers and familiar comforts. "I was okay, and so were you, and I…"

Wilson's whisper dipped quiet, just fringing the edge of falling asleep once more, but Maxwell listened, tired and saddened by the sense of the inevitable and yet still, still clinging to the reality of _now_ , and he held Wilson just as much as Wilson held him and it was enough.

"I was home."

 _I am home_ , Maxwell thought to himself, eyes closed and everything calm and quiet again, and right now all he knew he had was Wilson and that-

That was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> ....still haven't gotten past day 15, so let's pretend these two actually know more of how to survive than what I know of playing, yeah?


End file.
